


Once We Were the End

by helwolves



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Loki in Manacles, M/M, Maybe Depressing, Maybe Fluffy, Norse Bro Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Thor: The Dark World Spoilers Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helwolves/pseuds/helwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It is cold on Svartalfheim, and this Thor will tell himself later, only this.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once We Were the End

**Author's Note:**

> So this is mid-TDW smut with the most tenuous of excuses for existing plot-wise. I apologize and yet do not apologize. I also feel wholly inadequate as it's been years since I wrote fic and I've never written anything for this fandom before and I've read so much amazing/beautiful/insightful work lately, but here goes...

It is cold on Svartalfheim, and this Thor will tell himself later, only this.

It is cold and the black sands seem to drift on the air even when there is no wind as they silently make their little camp in the shadow of the skiff where Jane Foster sleeps. And though Thor’s own blood runs hot, always, he shivers. It is the cold deep in the splintered, scattered bones of the place and nothing more.

There are other things he will not think on. The fear he will never admit even to himself—fear that what they are about to do will fail spectacularly and all will be lost. And the indescribable flood of memories both sweet and sharp brought on by slinging words with the brother he thought he lost.

_Had_ lost.

Thor has tucked Jane’s tiny unconscious form into the deepest part of the skiff where she’ll be safe from the harshest winds. He wishes her sleep were dreamless but knows somehow it is not. Her skin seems to shimmer with its own unnatural heat, but he wraps a blanket around her still before climbing back out and nearly collapsing onto his back between ship’s hull and the dark mound of mismatched furs that is his sleeping brother.

Loki has always run a bit cool, though not enough to ever hint at the shards of ice lurking below the surface. Cool, but not cold. Even this day, even here, when Thor gripped him by the neck and when he stayed his fist, the feel of Loki’s skin against his own was warm, and so familiar.

He remembers other times, other strange and cold and dangerous lands. Other fires flickering their last hour of warmth, other piles of various furs. The small, thin shadow that had slipped in beside Thor at night in these places grew longer and leaner over the years. The awkward angles became beauty. The shivers and the icy toes gave way to shudders beneath him and fevered fingertips on his skin. But always he would come, fitting his body against Thor’s like a puzzle piece—the last one—and Thor could not remember ever sleeping half so well alone in his own bed, in their own warm, safe palace...

“Thor.” 

Loki’s voice is rough with sleep, or lack thereof, and muffled by the fur gathered atop him and the fact that he faces outward into the dark emptiness.

“I thought you asleep,” Thor nudges, when nothing further comes.

Loki grunts. “No, I’m not asleep. And I never will be if you’re going to keep _thinking_ so accursedly loud.”

Thor can’t help but laugh softly. “I know not what new gifts you’ve come to possess these past years, but I am sure hearing my thoughts is not among them.” 

Now it’s Loki’s turn to laugh. There is no venom in it, though—something Thor thinks he could get accustomed to, before brushing the thought aside.

“And yet,” says Loki, shifting beneath his coverings. The manacles binding his wrists and his magic rattle together and the sound echoes off the jagged black cliff face bordering their encampment. “I know what... troubles you. I… It is in my mind as well.”

His voice is barely a whisper at the end. Thor squeezes his eyes shut, rubs harshly at his beard and the grit gathered in it. It is too much. Everything has become too much and if he thinks on any of it further...

Loki somehow manages to make the single soft syllable that follows sound a challenge, a threat, a promise, all at once:

“ _Well_?”

His brother has always had a way with words.

If Thor were a more poetic man, he would swear he could feel the last threadbare fabric of his resolve and his wariness and his weariness tearing to pieces, and then he’s pressing himself against Loki’s back, burying his face in the sleek dark hair, sliding arm around waist to run his hand up Loki’s chest over his loose undertunic. He can feel his brother’s heart pounding beneath that hand and he sighs, brushing roughly at Loki’s shoulder with his beard, and Loki—damn him, Loki _whines_ and how is Thor supposed to keep his wits at that...

Loki moans shamelessly when Thor’s teeth graze his skin. He twists and arches until Thor feels every inch of Loki’s body pressed back against his own, the runed metal around his wrists clattering with every movement. His bound hands scramble to clutch at Thor’s hair and pull him closer, and Thor lets out a growl when Loki’s fingers catch on the braids there and tug.

Loki makes a shushing sound under his breath. “Now, brother… the _mortal_.” There is the slightest edge of a smile in his drawl.

Thor huffs against the soft skin behind the curve of Loki’s ear. “Hush. She sleeps soundly.” Perhaps too soundly. “You, on the other hand, are being loud enough to wake the dead.”

“And there are so _many_ dead here—” he begins, biting off the words as Thor’s fist closes around the chain that binds his wrists and pulls it taut.

“I said _hush_.”

“Mm,” says Loki, and then softer still, “How ever do you plan to silence me?”

The hand that held the chain relaxes and slides up to instead skim the knife’s edge of Loki’s jaw, thumb curving upward to trace the curl of his bottom lip. Loki darts his tongue out, encouraging Thor to linger there, to press inside, to feel the wetness and heat and sharpness of teeth and Loki humming contentedly—a small game so familiar that there is a flutter and sting deep in Thor’s chest as a hundred other moments come rushing back unbidden.

Thor’s other arm curls beneath Loki, tangling the chains in his opposite fist, and he rolls onto his back ever so slightly, pulling Loki ever so slightly atop him in turn. With some effort he pulls his fingers away from Loki’s wicked mouth to deal with the issue of buckles and fastenings—another sort of motion so long-practiced and effortlessly repeated, he grins against Loki’s neck at the ease of it.

“Thor…” Loki whispers in a voice that’s begun tearing at the edges. “ _Please_...”

He doesn’t restrain the sound that feels like it rumbles from the pit of his stomach to his very fingertips when his cock finally slides against Loki’s skin unhindered, pushing into the heat at the juncture of his strong thighs, and he wraps his palm around Loki, roughly thumbing the wetness already gathering at the tip, causing his brother to shudder and moan anew.

Loki, for his part, responds beautifully, rolling his hips in complement to meet Thor’s first shallow, lazy thrusts, arching his body so Thor cannot help but press his mouth to the smooth, sinewy lines of his neck, tonguing then finally biting down there, _hard_ , eliciting a snarl from Loki that makes Thor growl in appreciation.

“You know,” whispers Loki, between ragged breaths, “if you would but remove these bindings, I could have myself open and slickened for you in—”

Thor chuckles, having cut him off by flexing the arm supporting Loki from beneath and giving the chain a good solid yank. “Why would I do that, when I now have you right where I want you.”

“As—as you say,” Loki hisses, laughing breathlessly himself, head flung back. “Still, if you wanted to _truly_ revisit our misspent youth—”

“Shut. _Up_.”

Thor sinks his teeth into Loki’s neck again just where the sharp angle of his shoulder begins. It is most effective. As Thor’s bite deepens and their hips move in tandem, Loki’s further attempts at words melt into a stream of low whines and groans and curses that curl through all the hollow places inside Thor like tendrils of a spell warming him in absence of a true fire. Thor tightens the fist around Loki’s cock, lapping at the long, pale stretch of Loki’s neck as if he could _taste_ the sound it draws from his brother’s throat.

Loki gasps openly now, his hot breath making a mist in the cool dark air, his fingernails digging painfully into Thor’s forearms where he clutches and tears. Thor whispers a warning against his shoulder as the sounds grow louder, and Loki laughs, but twists himself even further so Thor only need tilt his head to silence Loki’s sounds by crushing their mouths together.

“I have missed you, brother,” Thor rasps in one of the moments there is room for a breath between them.

At this Loki shudders hard against him and Thor knows he is very close. He feels Loki’s lips curve into a grin of sorts against his own. “Thor, please don’t diminish my arousal with your... your sentim—oh, _Hel_ ,” he hisses, his hips bucking as Thor adds fingers that make him come suddenly and hard, cock twitching in Thor’s tightened grip, body gone rigid, hot seed spilling over Thor’s fist again and again.

Thor nuzzles against Loki’s temple and breathes deeply the scent of his now damp, tangled hair, clenching his other arm to crush Loki tighter against his chest. And then Loki is like a liquid settling over Thor warm and heavy as everything drains out of him, no longer straining or shuddering. He folds his shackled hands over his stomach; his breath slows, and his pounding heart.

“And you?” Loki whispers finally, his voice still shaky—something which Thor knows is likely horrifying to him and thus Thor relishes. Loki arches himself away to frustrate the angle of Thor’s continued erratic thrusting between his thighs. He twists again, catlike, pressing his body against Thor’s side and holding his wrists up meaningfully, the runed manacles clinking together.

“Ah, Loki. When did you grow so considerate of _others’_ pleasure?”

“You wound me, brother.”

Thor barely suppresses a grin; Loki does not attempt to.

Brushing his lips against Loki’s ear, Thor whispers roughly, “It’s true I will require something more to make an end of it. But you will not be needing use of your hands.”

A wave of pleasurable anticipation washes over Thor as he takes in the feverish look in Loki’s eyes, which flutter shut as he surrenders a low, appreciative noise. “Of course not.”

A few moments of unceremonious shuffling later, Thor is letting out his own hitched moans as Loki’s hot tongue drags against the head of his cock. He cannot remember the last time he was this hard and aching to be touched. Loki stares up at him, settled between Thor’s thighs, half unbalanced with his hands restricted as they are, and he flashes a feral smile before returning to his work. He laps at the mess Thor has made of himself with his rutting, adding the slickness from his mouth in broad, showy strokes of tongue.

Thor screws his eyes shut lest the fun end too quickly and he feels Loki’s silent laughing acknowledgement, the sensation sending pleasure flashing through his whole body like arcs of lightning he has no control over. 

The chains connecting the bindings around Loki’s wrists are still somehow cold as rime when Loki drags them against the base of Thor’s cock. Thor grunts and rolls his hips, driving himself deeper into the overwhelming warmth of Loki’s mouth. Loki does use his hands after all but Thor can’t gather a reason for protest now, with those long fingers wrapping expertly around him and working his length while Loki’s lips slide and suckle, little darts of tongue catching him off guard here and there, driving him almost shamefully but inescapably quickly to the edge.

Thor’s hands tangle in Loki’s hair, brushing back the wild strands to afford him a better view, gripping to encourage a particularly indescribable angle. Loki moans from deep in his throat as Thor’s fingers slide and drag along his scalp and catch among the loose curls and knots here and there.

Another dangerous smile from Loki and Thor watches his cock disappear near completely past his brother’s lips. It’s more than Thor can take now and he throws his head back, his hands tearing at Loki’s hair, his hips thrusting up wildly. The gasps and choking sounds that barely escape from Loki are more encouragement than deterrent, echoes of those countless other times involving these and more that ended with the two of them panting and sticky and shaking together and laughing and exhausted in the sweetest way.

And Loki takes it as beautifully as ever, swallowing him down again and again, hands pressing against Thor’s flexing thighs as Thor growls a few dangerously loud oaths and spills down Loki’s ravaged throat. He allows his hips to jerk a few more times before releasing his grip on Loki’s head, his hand drifting to the back of Loki’s neck and gently resting there.

Loki withdraws, staring up at Thor while licking his thin reddened lips obscenely, his expression unreadable. As best he can with the bindings around his wrists, he slithers up beside and half astride Thor, who is still concentrating on slowing his wild breathing when Loki tilts his head and leans in close. His eyes are closed and his breath is hot against Thor’s mouth for a long moment before he licks his way inside. The chain feels cool and heavy and slightly tingling with its restrained magic along Thor’s collarbone where Loki’s fingers are splayed.

The kiss is soft and strange and feels like a greeting and like a farewell. When Loki finally rolls back onto his side, facing away from Thor towards the relentless darkness of Svartalfheim’s horizon, Thor sighs at himself and curls against his brother’s back again, slipping one arm around him, his fingers tracing the curves of the bindings around Loki’s wrists tucked up against his chest.

In a soft, sleep-slurred voice, Loki finally says in a low rumble, “She probably wouldn’t have wanted us to do that either.”

Before Thor can pull himself far enough away to reply, Loki cuts in again: “Yes, yes, _shut up, Loki_.”

Thor simply laughs, burying his face in his brother’s hair as he tugs the furs tighter around them both.


End file.
